~ Leaving Melbourne for somewhere else.

The Truth Diaries of Mushroom John.

You may or may not be aware that my errant father passed away rather suddenly from cancer the day before St Patrick’s day just gone. Luckily I was able to make the long haul flight from Australia to Denver just in time to spend some time with him, my half brothers and aunt before the inevitable credits rolled up on his colourful life.

I met many of his friends and acquaintances while in Denver and I can honestly say that I had a great time considering the funereal circumstances. They made the whole situation bearable and were immensely supportive through out my extended stay.

I did what I had to do, I did what any dutiful son would do; I went to the hospital and visited him on a regular basis, did what I could for my father, signed the papers for power of attorney, committed him to a nursing home/hospice, took care of his possessions and final obligations, organised his cremation and memorial service and then scattered his ashes high up in the Rockies as he wished.

I also took with me back to Australia his diaries and notes from the last 40 years or so and I do not like what I am reading. It isn’t that they are badly written, contain offensive material (that depends on your point of view) or are just plain dull. No, it is the distinct lack of emotion and feeling towards his family that really gets my goat. I am reading endless pages about this and that and some famous person said something famous. I’m reading things that most men don’t consider worthwhile writing down once they have passed adolescence.

I am continually astounded by the Everest sized lies and half truths that I stumble across, line after line. The more I read the less I know about this man. I think that the more he wrote about himself the less he actually knew what the truth was about himself. How far can you go deluding yourself before you forget that you’re having yourself on and start believing your own spin wholesale?

Don’t get me wrong now. My father was a much loved and admired man by those not related to him. It’s a funny thing that such a well travelled man who espoused the Asian virtues of family and connectivity could be so lacking in his own blood ties and the small tasks involved in keeping them fluid.

The people who knew him as a friend might be surprised at the lack of warmth in my words and so they should. That is a testament to the way that my late father segmented his life; he compartmentalised all his friends and associates into labelled boxes and kept them separate from each other, he fed them just enough colourful swill to hold their attention with out ever revealing anything below his most outer layer of skin. He had more layers than an onion. Nobody knew who he really was, including himself.

You could say he was the master of superficial small talk. The king of self embellishment and aggrandisement, of interesting and enjoyable half-truths. He could cast a spell over you just like the infamous Aleister Crowley could in his prime. This was his gift, his talent, his get out of jail free card which ironically didn’t work when he needed it most. True wizards don’t use their powers for self-enrichment, any amateur occultist will tell you that.

I can say this because I am his eldest son. I can say this because I have gone out of my way on several occasions to help him out or just to visit him. I can say this because I think and act the same way as him sometimes. I can say this because I have the right to. I also have all of him in me. What I have spent most of my life trying to control, subdue, understand or cultivate he just let out wholesale regardless of the consequences to those he loved or loved him.

My father would never write this. He would never let anybody know his private affairs. He would never let anybody know who he really was. Perhaps the saddest aspect of his passing is that he didn’t open up and spill the beans, especially to his three sons. There is so much that has been lost forever, never to be retold.

Although I have his diaries, and shall transcribe them in due course, the legendary Mushroom John will live on in our memories just as he lived his life; a mercurial mystery, an intrepid traveller and smuggler of dreams, a very private man living a very public life.

Advertisements

Share this:

Like this:

Related

Post navigation

6 thoughts on “The Truth Diaries of Mushroom John.”

Wow. I’m sorry he was not a better father to you. Some men just aren’t cut out for it, I guess. I hope that he appreciated your presence at the end; I hope he told you that he loved you somewhere along the way, at least.

Wow! Amazing. I knew John (as much as he let me know him) 45 years ago. Charlie Simpson introduced us and the three of us carried on an extraordinary international business relationship for several successful years, importing goods from John in Delhi to Charlie in London to me in Ft. Collins. John had spent considerable time at our hippie commune in the Fort and was a well love and appreciated visiter. He and Caroline were a “couple” for a while. Anyway, I am impressed by your, Dorjex’s, post and saddened but not surprised by its tragic edge. I think we all would know that John was never want for obscurity and mystery. I’m sorry it pervaded in his familial ties, an inappropriate place, certainly. You, however, seem, by your text and what little else I know of you, to be quite an extraordinary young man. And you can and must recognize that your father, as unavailable as he was, has had a profound and direct affect upon who you are. His seed has, hopefully the very best parts of it, has served to provide the world with an equally extraordinary spirit and soul. You should be proud of that. Qualities in yourself, which may not be revealed until we are gone and you are old and wiser will, hopefully, make themselves apparent.

May his spirit soar with the grace of the Phoenix which so admired. Perhaps he’s finally realized its mystery.

I have, all these years, been the keeper of a piece of John’s work. A 5′ X 5′ canvas of John’s Great Earth Mandala. circa 1969. I’m attaching it here to share with all and hope that if anyone has any great interest in it for themselves or for archival purposes they will contact me so we may see to its continued preservation. It is in serious disrepair due to more than 40 years of hard living, five or six different homes, a fire, a flood that took all that I owned, a couple of marriages, many children, many deaths, eight US Presidents, several wars and just a good deal of one man’s life.

I didn’t know your father ~ although we have many friends in common from my having lived in and out of Asia since 1977 and being part of the folks that found they loved living the lifestyle of Caucasians living in ancient lands with all their ancient ways~~
I do want to say that I loved your writing about what you feel about your relationship with him.
I would like to comment however that, ultimately, we can only relate to anyone as much as we can and no more. Everyone strikes a different chord with us. It is no one’s fault ~ it is just part of life. We can only be what we can be.
So, my point is, you should not take it personally ~ the fact that he could not be to you what you would of liked to have had as a father.
Perhaps just see it as he did his best and could not do more ~ no one’s fault, no blame.
We do not ask for the personality/persona we are given at birth. We can only do with it what we can, given our circumstances.
Just sayin’ ~~

Thanks Sky, some true words indeed but at the end of the day we are what we are is a slight cop out when you consider that old Pops didn’t abandon one son, he skipped out on three but that is neither here nor there.
Leopards don’t change their spots but sometimes they die trying.

All that we really have left of John is an enigma, which is, of course, just what he always wanted.

So…………… Would that, some how, suggest that “Pops” should not have had kids? Could he have had more and better control of himself having known that raising kids was not in his life plan? Were his choices (all of them) foolish or arrogant? Impulsive or selfish? Compulsive or egotistical? Altruistic or Machiavellian? I certainly don’t know, can’t judge, because, despite the fact he was incredibly generous and apparently supportive to us at the High Mt. Church, no one really knew him. No one. He wouldn’t or couldn’t allow it.

The obvious, for me anyway, take away with all this is simply more questions (which I’m sure he would be loving if he’s out there in the Ethos). Questions to aid an intelligent, as apposed to emotional, analysis of John’s behavior. Of course, Dorjex, your’s must by nature be the latter but others of us have the luxury of concerned consideration. Hence, may I pose a few more questions, the answers to which could benefit some of us curious enough to seek a bit of resolve. Some folks, I’m sure, will just blow it off and stick with their preconceptions, comfortable with their final opinion.

I’d first have to wonder about John’s birth family. His position in it with regard to siblings (he had a sister?) and parents/roll models, childhood friends, early medical and psychological issues and other physical and environmental affects.

To quote, if I may, a favorite old ’60’s song by Desmond Dekker and the Heptones, one of the first ever ska bands, “Each is given a bag of tricks … endless lies … and a book of rules … Bah bip a bah bit a bah bip boo … on the Ship of Fools”.